


the scales on her skin

by shortcircuitify



Category: The Shape of Water (2017)
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Post-Canon, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-22 23:23:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13177389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortcircuitify/pseuds/shortcircuitify
Summary: The sea is warm, down in South America where he brings her.~a small epilogue~





	the scales on her skin

**Author's Note:**

> Love love LOVE this movie. Highly recommend, and I just wanted a sweet little extra to the ending, something relaxed to fit the rest of the movie. Enjoy!

The sea is warm, down in South America where he brings her. Far enough that the waves ward off curious sailors, he brings her to his small kingdom, chairs and tables and beautiful chandeliers reflecting the light of the sun coming down through the waves into a kaleidoscope that makes him even more beautiful, his scales an array of colors that make Elisa sigh, her hands trailing light blue against his skin.

They live off the coast of a country they do not know the name of. Down in the warm ocean, she does not need to use words, no expectations for her to sing or squawk or answer questions, and she instead teaches him the movements of her hands, the words she mimics with her mouth - her favorites, the ones that come to her when the ocean is quiet and the world is asleep.

They speak to each other; important words like _I love you_ and c _ome here_ and _warm._

She dances, too, on the ocean floor, her feet kicking up sand as she feels the new skin of her gills, her smile wide and happy as he watches her, mimics her movements until they are moving together, his body pressed against hers in contentment.

Sometimes he disappears, returning to her with books that they read above the ocean waves, before it swallows the pages whole and they are left with soggy sheets that make Elisa laugh and his eyes bright. He tries bringing her music, portable players and vinyl that, with the power of a sea god, plays in echoed breaths across the sea floor.

He watches her closely, in those moments, the way her face lights up and the moon touches her skin.

It is a boring, wonderful, beautiful existence, and Elisa cannot get enough of it, enough of him and his sweet words and his body against hers and him inside of her, filling her until she cannot breathe, and then he moves and her world is focused just on him. On this small corner of the world that is theirs.

And she sends notes, in bottles, down the currents of the ocean, hoping that perhaps one will find its way to Giles or Zelda, with tales of her adventures and her love, but content all the same.

\--

The police don’t bother them much, Giles and Zelda – someone with more authority than General Hoyt makes sure of that, the police paid off easily to forget about the dead fishman and office man with his throat cut clean through.

He doesn’t know much what to do with himself. He sits around his apartment, rents out Elisa’s so that he doesn’t have to move her things, visits it every day and runs his hands against the water stains on the floor, staring at his drawings as if everything was a dream, her included.

There’s a loud knock on his door one day, and his heart pounds in fear that his rent wasn’t enough, that they’ll take his apartment or Elisa’s and kick him out to boot.

It’s Zelda. She looks hesitant at first, but upon seeing his cats lets herself in, “They’re cute,” she says, patting them heartily on their backs. They purr in response, and he makes them coffee.

They sit in silence, but Zelda isn’t one for that.

“I miss her too,” she begins, “A lot. She was my best friend.”

He nods, “Mine too. She’s… there’s nothing more I could have asked for. She was perfect.”

“Damn right she was. _Is._ Who knows where she is now,” and her words make Giles perk up, that somebody else believes Elisa couldn’t have died on that rainy dock. Not really.

“That – _he_ knew what he was doing. I’m sure she’s…”

“Well, she’s not here. Work isn’t the same without her,” Zelda admits, “I miss having someone to talk to,” she pauses, “She always spoke highly of you.”

“You as well,” Giles says, gesturing with his hands to show the awe of who Zelda Fuller is.

Zelda smiles, “What do you say we do this more often?”

Giles returns it, the lines on his cheeks creaking with the now unfamiliar gesture, “I would like that.”

And they speak. They talk about Elisa and they talk about nothing and they talk about how shitty the world is, and how maybe it won’t be one day. And when night settles over them and Zelda has to be off to cook dinner for her husband, Giles hugs her.

“I think I want to start writing.”

Zelda smirks, “I know the story already. And the ending.”

“Do you think it will be a good one?”

“I think she will be very, very proud.”

\--

Time passes, neither fast nor slow, algae growing around their small, seaside kingdom. Lines do not form on her face, around her smile, and they pass the slow days and the long nights in the other’s company, their bodies pressed close and their hearts beating in silent contentment.

At the right angle, the light reflects off her skin in mottled colors, as if there are small, beautiful scales caressing her skin.

\--

And that is how Giles finishes his story too, not quite certain about Elisa’s fate, but feeling in his heart that this time, he got it right.


End file.
